The Trouble with Yahgs
by Brian Trent
Summary: The rise of the Terminus Empire in the decades following the Reaper War was inevitable. With the harvesting cycles over, a Cold War with Citadel space is smoldering. Rance believes in the Terminus Empire's ascendant glory. But how are they so powerful?
1. Chapter 1

**This is a Mass Effect story taking place well after the Reaper War, and proposes the rise of the Terminus Empire as the civilizations of Citadel space are still in recovery mode. NOTE: This story ignores the canonical ending of the trilogy, replacing it with victory over the Reapers by attrition and cooperation.**

**Chapter 1- **

**The Head at Omega**

Rance had been freelancing for the Terminus Empire a year before they finally let him see the head.

He was at the bar in Omega Station, knocking back a drink and watching the snake-like gyrations of Asari dancers, when the old Batarian sat down beside him and said, "Finish your drink and follow me. They want you to see the head."

Rance felt his pulse gallop. He pushed the unfinished drink away from him and stood, eager and ready, having imagined this moment since first hearing the rumors of this secret initiation.

The batarian was a scarred, grim fellow, his four eyes as black as onyx in a face that never smiled. In the club's fog, pulsing lights, and pounding beats, Rance could almost imagine they were on a battlefield even now. His delight slipped a notch as he considered how he must look to the grizzled warrior: a young human, blonde and unblemished.

They departed the noise of Club Afterlife and, to Rance's surprise, turned west into the old shipping districts.

Rance halted. "But I thought…"

The batarian jerked an impatient glare. "There a problem, kid?"

They were basked in the indigo light and holographic flames surrounding the Terminus Empire banner above the club.

"I thought it was in the club," he stammered.

The batarian shook his head in disgust. Two sets of eyes squinted. "What you think don't matter. How you obey orders, even the smallest ones, is what Nelek pays mind to."

Rance followed him without question after that, cursing himself for his foolishness. Of course they wouldn't keep the head in Club Afterlife, where Alliance investigators might find it.

He trailed the batarian through a hive of twisting corridors and apartment complexes. The batarian's stride increased; Rance was at pains to keep up with him. Old graffiti was faintly visible, as were the scuffs and pockmarks of decades-old weaponsfire, the tattoos and battle-scars of Omega's past. Soon enough, Rance found himself in the most unlikely of places: an unassuming mid-floor apartment flooded with blue and red vegetation, the kinds he'd seen on far-off colonies. In the center of this genetically modified garden was a tiled circle flanked by benches.

In the center of the circle, like a Reaper spike for husks, was a tall pike.

And crowning the pike was the skewered head of Aria T'Loak.

It looked freshly mangled, though word was it had been torn from its body seventy years ago. Tribal tattoos dappled the blue brow, and her gaze managed to exude her smoldering wrath, brutal cynicism, and a twinge of outrage at what had befallen her, the former overlord of Omega's underworld. Unsightly flaps of skin hung ragged beneath the chin.

Crazily, Rance wondered what they had done with the rest of her body.

"Welcome to the Circle," said a voice, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't his batarian escort. "Take a look at Aria. Bow your head, now that you've seen hers."

A man moved through the garden. Rance did as he was told.

The story varied upon who you heard it from, but the underlying theme was always the same: After the Reaper War, the united Terminus systems had emerged stronger than ever, forged into new steel and flooded with the despondent and homeless, the scum and the refugees, the fragments of the Batarian empire and the strength of the Blue Suns, stitched into one purpose by mighty Aria. And then with the Reapers destroyed, Aria had been ambushed. Some said it was from people in her own personal retinue. Others said it was a competing gang. All that was known for certain was that she disappeared, and Nelek emerged in her place, surrounded by rumors of the infamous head.

Rance gazed upon it now, possessed by a sick thrill and dubious honor at being one of the few to see the head up close. He even sweated a little under her cruel gaze, as if her legendary vindictiveness could strike him from beyond the grave.

"You can stand up now," the man said, and he stepped forward into the dim lighting. "This ain't a religious ceremony. You're one of us now, and we're equal in purpose and before the glory of Terminus. Stand tall!"

He did as he was told.

Nelek was human, built like a tank, thick and muscular, and wearing armor of metallic green Terminus colors. He stood at the head of a mixed troop of bodyguards.

"I'm Nelek," the man said simply.

"Rance." He started to bow again.

"You've done enough genuflecting today," Nelek said, clasping him by the shoulders and taking his head in his hands to look into his eyes. "I told you to stand tall. Traj speaks highly of you. Don't taint her reputation or waste my time."

Rance held the great man's gaze. Nelek's eyes were like two flecks of blue ice. There was charm in his face, and menace in his eyes, and the ability to oscillate between the two with equal fluency. Aria had ruled through fear and shrewd seduction, people said. Nelek ruled through sheer force of inspiration.

Nelek stood before Aria's head but didn't look away from his new recruit. "I like to bring my new lieutenants here to talk to them about change. This place used to be a storehouse fifty years ago. Now it's all respectable residential housing. The window here used to look out on cheap smuggler docks. Today you can see the Terminus troops training for future glory. You know what those troops were at the start of the Reaper War?"

Rance replied at once. "They were the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Blood Pack, brought into alliance by Aria and Commander Shepard to fight the Reapers."

A smile twitched on Nelek's face. He glanced at the batarian and gave the briefest of approving nods.

"Today," Nelek said, "Those old divisions are gone. We are Terminus troops, not tribal factions. Even the Blood Pack is a term that belongs to the history books. Change has happened, and change is coming. The old ways are gone. The old worlds are transformed. And even Omega," he jabbed a finger at Aria's head, "has gone from a cheap criminal hideout to the center of a new empire. The selfish thugs of yesteryear have given way to purpose and glory for all under the Terminus banner."

Rance nodded, but wondered if Nelek really believed his own propaganda. The Blood Pack had been the real strength behind Aria's makeshift alliance, but they were gone now, leaderless. Everyone knew it. It was krogan might which had kept the Blood Pack running, but the krogan were back on Tchuchanka now, more concerned with building cities than running wild the way they used to. Clan Urdnot had changed their entire culture. No self-respecting krogan would be seen in the Terminus Systems now, not with fertile females waiting under the flag of the Urdnot.

Without the krogan, the Terminus Empire had no shock troops. Without the krogan, Rance thought, we are only a loose confederation. That we wear the same colors now doesn't change that.

Nelek laughed quietly, as if reading Rance's thoughts. "You'll understand soon enough. Swear the oath now, before me, and I'll give you your first mission as lieutenant of the cause."

Without hesitation, Rance spoke in a clear voice, "I hereby bind myself to the Terminus Empire to advance its glory and dispatch its enemies. My future and hers shall intertwine. The old ways are gone. The Terminus Empire is my mother and father, my glory and purpose. This I, Rance Hoyt, swear before you today."

Nelek clapped his shoulders and embraced him. "Lieutenant Hoyt, you are now an agent of the new Blood Pack."

"Thank you sir. It is my honor."

"Honor is earned, and tonight you'll have your chance. I'm giving you a ship and a crew and your first mission. You will go to the Hades Gamma cluster and infiltrate the science station in orbit around Ploba. You will engage and kill all aboard. You will obtain their research files and then await further instructions."

Rance had to fight to control his face. Terror exploded in him.

Is this how it was going to end for him? His entire life he had worked as a freelancer, responsible for himself and his own life. Now he had pledged himself to the ascendant Terminus Empire, and now they were going to hurl him into the fire? Was this what it meant to belong?

Again, Nelek seemed to read his thoughts. "Speak plainly, lieutenant."

"I will follow my orders to the letter, even if I do so at the cost of my own life."

"I do not promote lieutenants only to send them off on suicide missions. Traj says you're a biotic of some skill. He says you killed an Alliance soldier by flinging him up through a skylight."

"Yes sir."

"There are only forty soldiers in the Ploba garrison."

Only forty?

"Yes sir."

"You will have an assault team of eight."

"Yes sir. We will fight well."

"You will do more than that. You will take the base, kill its garrison, and obtain those files."

"Yes sir."

"Speak your concerns, lieutenant."

Rance decided to come clean. "Sir, in my limited experience an assault team of eight would be easily overwhelmed by a Turian-heavy defense force of forty, even factoring in a stealthy infiltration."

"Do you think your prospects of success are tied to numbers alone? Or the value of the crew?"

"Both. Sir."

"Your crew is comprised of four humans including yourself, two batarians, a vorcha, and your first officer."

Rance nodded rigidly. "May I inquire as to the strengths of my first officer?"

"You may meet him. Now."

Nelek stepped aside. A shadow seemed to grow behind him, ominous and wide.

Rance's first thought was that Nelek had somehow found a krogan to do his bidding. He had never met a krogan. They had recoiled from the Terminus Systems. Too good for us now, Rance thought. Too proper and proud to admit we ever gave them a surrogate home.

Rance knew the vital stats on the krogan, and had read about them in school, and had taken a virtual tour of the Citadel where the krogan statue was dedicated to their success in the Rachni Wars. Seeing the imposing dark shape appear behind Nelek, he could only think that it was a krogan he was about to see now.

The figure lumbered into the light, like an shambling beast emerging from hibernation on some hellish world best forgotten. Its height nearly put it within kissing distance of Aria's head.

Rance's jaw fell open. "What… is… THAT?"


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn't meant to speak aloud. The sound of his voice surprised him, his terror overwhelming his usual instincts. It was not a krogan he was seeing, and all he could think of was that this was horrific Reaper creature, some indoctrinated thing, and that meant Nelek must be indoctrinated, and now all Rance's plans for life were about to be swallowed by the great bogeyman of the stars…

The alien towered over the rest of them, a hulk of flesh and carapace. It had a massive, bony face of livid red color, and multiple eyes tucked beneath protrusions of bone. The body was pure muscle. It wore green armor that seemed to be ill-fitting, given its tremendous girth. The alien looked like it could head-butt a Mako… and come out the victor.

Rance even wondered, briefly, that this was some biotic-inspired nightmare. But then he caught the smell of the monster, a cloying, gamey smell. A real smell that anchored him to this awful reality.

"This is your first officer," Nelek said.

Rance could barely breathe. He retreated a step, then two, until he felt the muzzle of a rifle against his back. He turned and there was the old batarian.

Nelek was watching him, a faint trace of amusement in his smile. "His name is Grell. First Officer Grell of the _Wyvern_ which, in a moment, will become your ship. Grell is utterly loyal to the cause, and so he'll be loyal to you."

Rance tried to reassemble his composure. "What… what is…"

"He's a Yahg."

Rance had never head of a Yahg. Slowly, his terror of indoctrination began to fade and was gradually replaced by other theories. Nelek must have contracted with some genetics lab, perhaps with the corporations on frozen Noveria, or with some forgotten ex-Cerberus geneticists whose flight from the Citadel's merciless purge had caused them to seek employment with Terminus.

What had Nelek done? Where had he found this behemoth to fill the power vacuum after the krogan abandoned the Blood Pack?

"Any other doubts about taking Plabo station?" Nelek sounded impatient now.

Rance shook his head.

"Good." The great man handing him a golden datadisk. "Now get down to the docks and earn your stripes, lieutenant. The Wyvern is our answer to the Normandy-class vessels. Her stealth system is without peer. Her weapons are refined Batarian design with Eclipse engineering. Flight lieutenant Quadrini can fill you in on its capabilities. Gunnery Chief Traj will introduce you to the crew."

"Yes sir."

Nelek's ice-blue eyes glinted. "Take that base for me."

And with that, the great man turned away and vanished into the garden. Rance loosened his collar and glanced to the pike.

Aria T'Loak seemed to watch him in silent, murderous rage.

Ploba was located in the Antaeus system of the Hades Gamma cluster. It was a gas giant, the color of burnt caramel, and its gravity seized the Wyvern at a distance Rance didn't think possible soon after they snapped out of the Mass Relay.

Gunnery Chief Traj Potente stood beside Rance on the bridge of the Wyvern when the planet came into view. She appeared to be only a few years older than him, perhaps thirty. She wore Terminus-weave armor that was a darker, richer shade of green than their silent Yahg compatriot, and her hair was so blonde it was nearly white. This fact, coupled with the sharp angles of her face and the pale eyes, made her seem an ice sculpture come to life.

As for the ship itself, it was sleek, small, and silent. The bridge was small, unlike a Normandy-class vessel, and with the command crew around him, Rance felt it was almost claustrophobic. The small size would reduce the visual signature of the craft, as would the star-dappled hull. This was not a ship one grew comfortable with, Rance thought, and he grinned at the rumors that Alliance captains often grew hopelessly attached to their ships. The _Wyvern_ was a tool. It was a dagger in the shadows. It was a shadow transport for a shadow team. It was not a personality to grow affection for.

"We're picking up signals from the Anansi-Ishtar shipping lane," Traj said.

Flight lieutenant Quadrini was a Batarian, nestled into his chair like a spider. "What could we possibly want with a science station around a boring gas giant?" he asked.

Rance looked over the planet's telemetry. "The turians don't assign garrisons to boring stations. Something's there."

The Yahg spoke for the first time during the voyage, and its voice was so deep it vibrated the air like a power surge. "Ploba was the location of an orbital capsule containing one of Matriarch Dilinaga's writings, recovered eighty years ago."

Traj was closest to the first officer. "Nelek would never have sent us here for an Asari Matriarch's notebook scribbles. Besides, anything worth recovering was done decades ago."

The Yahg said nothing to this. Its ugliness, and strangeness, was oddly entrancing.

"First Officer Grell," Rance said at last. "Are you experienced in combat?"

The creature turned. "Very experienced."

"Good. You will lead the landing party."

The creature made no reaction, but rather just studied him with its eye-cluster. When it spoke again, it's voice was obscenely humble, almost mocking. "Yes, Captain Hoyt. I am here to serve you."

Rance addressed his entire crew. "The Blood Pack has placed a mole in the science station. She is expecting us in just a few minutes. She will override the docking bay, apparently under the pretense that a probe needs to be brought inside. We will slip in right then and there. The station's VI will report us the inside we exit the ship, so speed and efficiency are the orders of the day."

Traj drew her assault rifle and loaded a magazine of Tungsten rounds. Already, Ploba Station was visible in the backsplash of Antaeus' brutal crimson glow, glinting in orbit around the gas giant like a derelict from ancient times. Quadrini piloted the _Wyvern's_ approach like a black and deadly arrow.

Rance was excited. The thought of impending battle drew adrenaline into his blood until he could taste its metallic flavor in the back of his throat. Past his batarian pilot's shoulder, Ploba Station was growing larger and more distinct.

As they came within sight of the docking bay doors, they slid open, as if the station was already expecting them.

"Leave none alive," Rance reminded his crew.

The Yahg grunted, a crooked grin on its terrible face.

The Wyvern coasted into the station. Its airlock hissed open just as a patrolling Turian rounded the corner, saw the ship, and opened fire as they landing party leapt off the ship straight into the barrage of bullets.

Rance had been in street-fights and bar heists. Never a battle. Not like this.

His biotic barrier sprang from him and caught the turian's bullets in an electric blue haze. Traj killed the attacker with a single shotgun blast to the head. The station alarm gonged, but by then the landing party was splitting into pairs, carving up the facility in a blur of gunfire, singularities, and fire.

Rance and Traj went together, taking a maintenance corridor and killing power in the station. In the darkness, they stitched shots into guards who had tried escaping into the corridor. The Yahg, it seemed, was on the war-path. People screamed throughout the station.

"They're trying to lockdown the central lab," Traj said, reading the station's security protocols off her omnitool.

"Let's get there first," he hissed, and dashed forward, throwing barriers across the doorways he passed.

As it turned out, the Yahg had already reached the central lab. Researchers lay slumped over their desks or crumpled up under them. As Rance entered the room, the Yahg tossed something towards him. It looked like a spacesuit or mannequin… until it hit the floor, and Rance heard the sickening crack of a leg bone as it landed.

A researcher! The Yahg had left a researcher alive!

The victim cried out and tucked into a protective ball. Traj raised her assault rifle to finish the researcher off.

"Hold!" Rance said. "Wait until Quadrini has decrypted the files."

Traj gave an unpleasant grimace. "Why?"

Rance glared. "Because I gave you an order. Because if the decrypter doesn't work, we'll need assistance from some of the locals."

"The decrypter is a VI-tested omnipick-"

"I'm taking no chances." He turned to the Yahg. "Grell, how many survivors?"

Three others. A human and two turians."

"Space them along with the bodies."

The Yahg bowed slightly and went to the adjacent room. Three gunshots rang out.

Rance nudged the woman at his feet. "Let me see your face," he said.

The woman stirred but didn't obey. She wore a magenta body suit that, along with her blue skin, reminded him of the colors of Omega Station.

"There wasn't supposed to be an Asari here," he said gently. "Identify yourself."

The woman rolled onto her back and fixed him with large, sensitive eyes.

Rance caught his breath. Then he smiled. "Hello, Dr. Liara T'Soni."


	3. Chapter 3

**This is a Mass Effect story taking place well after the Reaper War, and proposes the rise of the Terminus Empire as the civilizations of Citadel space are still in recovery mode. NOTE: This story ignores the canonical ending of the trilogy, replacing it with victory over the Reapers by attrition and cooperation.**

**Chapter 3**

**What Rance Knew About Shepherd  
**

The cleanup was handled efficiently and with clockwork precision. Even their batarian pilot assisted with planting the shaped charges throughout the station. The bodies were piled into the airlock and then jettisoned into Ploba's gravity well, and by the time the Wyvern disembarked, the corpses were already burning up in the high atmosphere like torches in a cinnamon sky. The Wyvern lingered in orbit just long enough to watch the station itself explode. In moments, the largest chunks were falling into Ploba as well.

Rance was sweating. From street-thug to captain of a Terminus warship in a matter of days. He still couldn't get used to the idea, and watching the research station disintegrate felt unreal. Only the shuddering of the Wyvern as the explosion's shockwave reached them made him realize this was no dream. He had just presided over an act of war. With Citadel space!

"Can't ask for a better garbage disposal," Traj muttered, flush from battle, her hair sticking to her forehead and neck.

Rance found his voice again. He stood before the galaxy map, gripping the rails as if for support. "Helm, take us away. Put us in high polar orbit around Vemal and maintain stealth drive." Vemal was the outermost planet of the Antaeus System, a toxic little uninhabited backwater world. A good hiding place.

Traj blinked. "You're keeping us in-system? Citadel investigators will be here as soon enough."

"I'm sure that's true."

"But if we're just parked around Vemal, they could find us…" She trailed off, seeing her captain's expression. "Sorry, sir."

Rance decided to let it pass. This was the problem, he thought, with the Terminus Empire. This was the problem with a culture which had sprung from Omega. Insubordination was embedded in their genes. The fleet was powerful and organized and, to outward observers, a model of cohesion, but Rance was starting to see the cracks beneath the paint. Nelek had his work cut out for him.

He stood and turned to Traj, and by extension to the rest of the crew. "As far as the Citadel will be concerned, Ploba station suffered a massive failure of their onboard reactor when the coolant tanks ruptured. We were already docked before anyone made a visual, and we jammed all signals until we left. There are no bodies to recover, no heat-sinks, nothing to suggest violence. Besides, Ploba is not a high-value military target. We'll hide in plain sight and await further instructions from Nelek."

He turned to the Yahg, which stood beside him like an imposing prehistoric beast. "Commander, you have the bridge."

It bowed elaborately. "Aye aye, sir."

_That_ did it. Any lingering doubt or challenge evaporated the instant the hulking behemoth strode to the captain's chair. Rance left the bridge.

In the hallway, Rance was unsurprised when Traj jogged up to him. "Sir? Permission to speak freely?"

"Permission granted. What's on your mind, lieutenant?"

Traj seemed to be measuring her words."Our orders were to obtain the Ploba research files and then kill everyone aboard that station. You didn't do that."

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he said, "Our superiors didn't know Dr. T'Soni was aboard."

"So?"

"I'm not in the habit of explaining myself to my crew." He saw Traj's jeweled eyes flare and dim. "However, since this our inaugural mission together and a certain amount trust is required, I'll grant you this much. The presence of Dr. Liara T'Soni was an outlier to our mission parameters."

"I don't see how it makes a damn bit of difference. Sir."

"I'd like to give Nelek the option of deciding what to do with her."

"But why do you care? We blew away a bunch of turians and I didn't see you shed a tear."

"Dr. T'Soni has friends in high places."

Traj made a cynical sound.

Rance fought to control his impatience with his officer. "Speak your mind, Traj."

"Shepard is what, a hundred-and-ten years old now? Can you imagine him climbing into a Specter outfit to rescue his ex-wife?"

"I wasn't talking about Shepard. He and Liara have other, very long-lived friends."

"The krogan have grown soft," she countered bitterly. "The Urdnots are civilized now, and they're no match for the yahg. Hell, I'd put credits down on our own first officer facing Wrex himself."

Rance hesitated, surprised by her choice of phrasing. She had said "the yahg," as as in the entire race of yahg. Was that Nelek's big secret? With the loss of krogan support, had he plundered a secret homeworld of monsters and used them to fill the void? Nelek's reputation was to use every resource available. Rance had never heard of yahg before, but he had begun to brush up on them now: during the voyage to Hades Gamma, he had scoured the net for information, sifting what he could from rumor mills and obscure posts and extant data caches. The yahg, it seemed, had once been a candidate race for Citadel society. A contact team landed on their homeworld (the location of which was not publicly known) and had met with their leaders. The problem was that the yahg were tribal and brutal and very, very dangerous. The contact team was butchered, and the Council broke off all contact with the yahg, deeming them unfit for galactic society. They did not play well with others.

Nelek had apparently smelled an opportunity, however. Rance couldn't begin to imagine how he had done it, but he must have made contact with the rejected race, negotiated with them, and then recruited them for the Terminus Empire.

And clearly Traj was a believer in their potential. His officer's confident grin when speaking of them was like that of a successful varren breeder. But he also wondered WHY Traj was such an angry person. Every word she spoke seemed drenched in acid, as if she were constantly fighting an inner battle with the universe.

Rance held her gaze, realizing that as a young captain he had better project an image of unwavering strength. "Traj, when I said Liara has friends in high places, I wasn't restricting my comments to the krogan alone. Though it would be a mistake to underestimate Clan Urdnot. Wrex was fighting battles before the human race landed on the moon."

She made a skeptical sound.

"T'Soni is a thirty-year ambassador on the Council," he continued. "She made a lot of friends. Killing her without consulting with Nelek would be a mistake. Besides, T'Soni served on the Council itself alongside Shepard after the Reaper War. She probably has some valuable insights to share on Council inner workings. Nelek may well find a use for her."

"Oh, no doubt. Her head would be useful on a pike, right alongside T'Loak. Come on, captain. Let me put a bullet in her and we'll have that much more to boast to our superiors."

"Are you in the habit of defying your captain, Officer Traj?"

She stopped. "No sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

Traj gave a crisp salute and marched down to the main battery. Rance took a deep breath and wiped his forehead. Then he went to the brig.

It was time to pay their hostage a visit.

Dr. Liara T'Soni was sitting in a corner of the cell. There were no chairs available to her, and yet she managed to maintain a certain dignity in her posture. Her slender legs were folded under her as if she were in meditation. Her spine was imperially straight. When Rance entered, she was already looking at the doorway as if having expected him that very moment.

"Dr. T'Soni," Rance said. "Welcome aboard the _Wyvern_. I'm Captain Rance Hoyt. I apologize for not coming to see you sooner, but other matters demanded my attention."

She watched him without reaction.

Rance leaned against the wall across from her, adopting a casual pose. "Why were you on Ploba Station?"

"Why were _you_?" she countered. "I'm Professor of Ancient Civilization Studies with the Citadel Science Board. My presence there was permitted."

"Permitted or required?" When she didn't answer, he added, "I didn't realize the Citadel had much interest in a desolate gas giant."

"Nor did I realize Terminus captains did."

Rance gave a laugh to cover his surprise. He had heard she was clever at deduction, and for a moment he was tempted to ask why she hadn't assumed he was a merc or pirate or slave trader. That she had singled out his employers so readily was unsettling.

Recovering as best he could, he said, "I'm an opportunist, and something about Ploba smells of opportunity. Maybe it was the forty turian soldiers defending it. But what about you? Why leave the comfort of the Citadel to spend your time in orbit around a place like that?"

"I am the galaxy's foremost expert on Protheans."

"Except the Protheans had nothing to do with Ploba. You're being evasive, doctor. You don't want to be evasive with me."

Liara's eyes narrowed with a cunning menace. She was truly beautiful, Rance thought. Even by asari standards, she exuded a radiance that was magnetic, a sensitive nature seamlessly integrated with a steely demeanor.

"My expertise has expanded over the years," she said. "The Protheans were not the only race during the last cycle."

"Nor in previous cycles," Rance agreed, nodding. "Let me tell you what I've heard. Ploba contains peculiar structures in the atmosphere. Some people say it's just debris, but there's speculation that the structures are artificial in nature. Apparently, some unknown race rigged the atmosphere with these things millions of years ago. Officially, no progress was ever made in comprehending their purpose. Unofficially…" He trailed off. "The Citadel sent their eminent expert on dead races to bring her considerable knowledge to bear on the problem, so there must be something to the rumors."

"It seems that you know everything. I am of little use to you, then."

He raised an eyebrow. "Interesting sentiment, doctor. Did you say the same thing to Shepard when he left you for Admiral Williams?"

He expected his barb would find its mark, but was surprised when Liara gave no reaction. The dig glanced off her like as surely as if she had biotic barriers around her emotions.

Rance was intrigued. "It's interesting to me how the Citadel protects its heroes. Commander Shepard's exploits on a hundred worlds are promoted everywhere you look. But his personal life is a well-guarded secret. You need to really dig. To excavate. To bring the truth to light. He shacked up with you when he needed you, to solve the mystery of Sovereign's attack on Eden Prime. Once you served your usefulness, he abandoned you."

"If you call being killed by the Collectors abandonment."

"Ah, but when Cerberus revived him, did he run back into your arms? No. He shrewdly bedded Miranda Lawson instead. Why? Because he needed her to work the angles of both Cerberus and the Collectors." When T'Soni said nothing, he continued with a feigned sympathy. "Yes, the vids like to emphasize that the great Commander Shepard built alliances, but they don't explain how. Turns out he was doing it the old fashioned way."

"You're vulgar."

"I'm honest. I called myself an opportunist, but I'm strictly amateur compared to your ex-husband. When the Reaper War was over, he returned to Ashley because that was good politics. Maybe he needed _human_ sons and daughters. Very shrewd indeed."

Liara said simply, "Perhaps he loved Admiral Williams."

Rance stroked his chin. "No, I don't think so. After the Reaper War, Shepard used his influence to re-staff the Citadel council. Got himself appointed in place of Udina, and then got you to fill in for the disavowed asari councilor."

"We worked well together," she said, a trace of emotion in her voice now.

Pressing on, Rance said, "So he was married to Admiral Williams she was just a Spectre back then but rumors say that marriage didn't dissuade the two of you from getting... close... again." He flashed another smile. "Why? Because he needed your support once more, this time in passing various legislation. Shepard's a born politician, isn't he?"

The Asari was inscrutable. "Perhaps he loved _me_."

"I wonder if he's capable of that emotion." Rance made a show of drawing a deep, apologetic breath. "And I've heard other rumors too. Omega is a great place for rumors. Everyone knows that Shepard welded the quarians into allegiance with the Citadel through a certain quarian admiral. Perhaps he achieved that milestone through some personal welding of his own..."

At last, _there_ was a flicker of pain in Liara's eyes. Rance was surprised at his own reaction to this; the sought-after effect gave him a twinge of anguish at causing any discomfort to this beautiful woman. He blushed.

And then, without warning, T'Soni's lips broadened into a winning smile.

She said, "I understand YOU now, Rance Hoyt. Your native intelligence has propelled you easily through life, but you are like a kite, drifting high and lofty, seeing the lay of the land but unable to appreciate its details. Your observations are juvenile at best. I believe you inserted more of yourself into this shallow attempt at upsetting my defenses than you care to admit."

The acumen flayed him raw. He felt his temper, fueled by biotic energy, flare.

Then he caught himself. He grinned, artificially at first, then with genuine humor.

"You are beautiful in every way a person can be," he said. "And very clever. But that last comment of mine _did_ penetrate your defenses, Doctor T'Soni. I hit near the mark. Maybe it was not Ashley Williams he loved after all, or you, but that vixen on the Far Rim"

Alarm lights dappled the brig. Helmman Quadrini's voice came over the speaker, the batarian's ordinarily deep voice tinged with real anxiety.

"Sir, a ship has just entered the system."

Still watching T'Soni, Rance said, "Markings?"

"Normandy-class."

Rance felt a flood of superstitious fear. "Maintain present position. Confirm that stealth systems are running at full efficiency."

"Confirmed."

"Monitor and update as necessary."

"Yes sir."

He saw that the asari was watching him.

"You're inexperience shows, Captain Hoyt," she said.

He rose to his feet. "We'll see about that."

Quadrini's voice resumed. "Sir? The ship is on attack vector."

"What? Our steath systems..."

"Are fully engaged, sir!"

Suddenly the brig door door opened and the yahg shuffled in. He pointed an immense claw at the prisoner.

"Captain? Dr. T'Soni has a tracking device in her. She's been broadcasting her position."

"How do you know?"

"There is no other explanation."

Rance said into the intercom, "Get us to the relay."

"Yes sir."

He looked at Liara, all sympathy gone from his eyes. When he spoke, it was to the yahg. "Commander Grell, it would seem we need to go to the medical bay. We need to perform some surgery on our prisoner."

T'Soni's face remained the portrait of calm, though her eyes flashed in a moment of uncontrolled horror.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**The Huntress and Her Daughter**

"Let's see it onscreen," Rance said.

Helmsman Quadrini tapped the holographic display, blinking his four eyes in rapid succession as if he couldn't believe what was happening. The Wyvern was supposed to be invisible to detection, but a ship had indeed entered the system and was now pursuing them like a wolf on the hunt. The display flared in gold light, showing an unusual craft over the galaxy map. It was shaped like an ancient weapon, cruel and curving, as if the designer wanted to marry two diametrically opposite concepts into one yin-yang cohesion. It was NOT like any Alliance or Citadel craft Rance had ever seen.

"We're being hailed," Quadrini said tersely.

"Put it onscreen."

The face of an Asari with chilling blue eyes materialized in front of them.

"Commander of unknown vessel," the woman said. "My name is Samara. You are ordered to stand down and prepare to be boarded."

Rance was impressed. Here was the great Justicar herself, the ancient huntress who had been tracking prey when humans were still sailing in wooden ships.

The woman continued. "By the Code, I will grant you mercy if you stand down and surrender."

Rance found his voice. "Quadrini, get us to that Mass Relay."

The batarian fitted his hands into the controls. The Wyvern rocketed towards the megastructure only two klicks away now.

Samara's face flickered as the distance between the two ships grew. Her eyes burned with inhuman blue intensity.

"If that is your answer," she said, "Then I bid you find peace in the embrace of the Goddess."

"Ship is firing," Quadrini said.

Outside the vessel, a scintillating energy beam tore through the blackness. The Wyvern swooped low and rolled to port, while the beam stabbed like a lance ahead of them.

"That's a particle beam!" the helmsman cried.

The holographic projection of Samara resumed. "Stand down. Your life, and the life of those under your command, hangs on your compliance."

Rance grinned absently. "You're a good pilot, Quadrini. Get us through and you can tell me how you ended up with such a human name."

The particle beam blazed forth again. The Wyvern rose above it by a meter or less, and the energy scorched the hull plating in a perfectly straight black line like a racing stripe.

A moment later, electrical arcs snapped out from the rotating gimbal of the relay. They were cruising alongside the megastructure's length.

Quadrini leaned forward to the controls. "She won't fire on us now! She won't risk hitting the relay."

"She's a thousand-year-old Justicar," Rance countered. "She'll do whatever she needs to."

The Wyvern shuddered. Rance darted to the starboard window and saw, through the blue mist of the mass effect field, Samara's craft powering up another broadside. They were a larger target now, both by proximity and flank. He knew she wouldn't miss a third time.

Rance closed his eyes and prayed.

The beam fired.

The Wyvern wasn't there when it arrived.

In the seconds following their escape, no one dared to breathe. The Mass Relay spun in listless gyrations behind them, and everyone aboard the Wyvern seemed to be expecting Samara's craft to pop through it into the sector any moment.

"Where are we?" Rance asked at last.

Quadrini produced a handkerchief and dabbed his brow. "We are in the Hades Nexus, Hekate System."

Rance was about to compliment his helmsman on the fine evasion when the bridge elevators doors slid apart. Commander Grell lumbered out of it, following obediently by Dr. T'Soni. The Yahg had the doctor on a leash. Rance balked at the sight; this esteemed woman being tugged along like a pet. For an awful moment, he had a nightmarish vision of a future in which all galactic races were reduced to this demeaning status at the mercy of Yahg overlords.

Liara walked stiffly, as if in tremendous pain. She wore a hospital gown and there was blood on it where the ad hoc surgery had occurred.

Grell bowed. "Captain Hoyt, I have located and removed the tracking device from our prisoner." He held out a fleshy claw. A small cube sat on his palm.

Rance pinched the device in his fingers. "Dr. T'Soni, please confirm this is the only tracking device you had on you. Er, in you."

Liara walked a few more steps as if in a daze, and then the Yahg jerked the leash and she stopped.

"I ran a full bioscan, sir," replied Grell. "She had been surgically implanted beneath her right scapula." Rance considered the device. "It doesn't look like any known biotransmitter."

"I agree. The cube is of hardened resin with external dampeners."

"Could it still be broadcasting then?"

"I punctured the exterior."

"Why should that matter?"

"Because unless I am mistaken, this was a quantum communication device. Entangled particles held in suspension, entirely cut off from all outside interference, and 'talking' with their counterparts aboard the pursuing ship. I've compromised their integrity. We're safe now." He paused dramatically. "I also found this." He rudely seized the Asari doctor's left arm and held it out for Rance's inspection. There was a tattoo there, in bold black calligraphy:

SR2.

"I see," said Rance, and he addressed Liara. "Do all the legendary squadmates from Shepard's Normandy have the same tattoo? Are you all implanted with these quantum transmitters?"

Liara blinked slowly. She said nothing.

"Samara attempted to rescue you," Rance said patiently. "The famed justicar herself gave us chase a moment ago."

"You speak in the past-tense," said Liara. "Samara is still coming after you. She will never stop until she has you."

"We evaded her," Rance maintained. "From the Relay we could have gone to a dozen systems."

Liara only repeated, "She will never stop."

"No doubt."

"And neither will her daughter."

The crew of the Wyvern halted in their actions and turned, visibly affected by this news. Rance caught Traj's eyes across the bridge. His gunnery chief had gone pale.

"Her daughter," Rance echoed.

"Her Ardat-Yakshi daughter," Liara clarified.

Throughout the galaxy, there were numerous bogeymen which inspired an almost atavistic shudder in sapient beings. The obvious one was the Reapers, and though they were dead, scrubbed from the galaxy by an alliance of all races, the mere use of their name could terrify a seasoned combatant.

It had been eighty years since the end of the Reaper War. For many, they were still a living memory, even though no one had found a living Reaper in seventy-one years, and the last of their vessels had been already wounded, bleeding out in space, trying to make a run for an unguarded relay which, in the end, turned out to be VERY guarded. There was something deliciously ironic that the final Reaper vessel had been killed by Elcor, of all creatures! The ever-polite, ponderous, elephantine Elcor! "Bittersweet triumph," proclaimed the Elcor captain on an open radio channel. "We condemn you to oblivion, in vengeance and memory of the hanar and drell. Furious rage: The galaxy is now free."

Yet people worried that other Reapers still existed, lurking in the dark places between stars or hibernating in the frozen wastes of dead worlds. For decades after the Wars, cleanup teams were occasionally discovering husks and hybrids shambling beneath the wreckage of cities. During the reclamation of Thessia, for instance, a mile-long hive of monsters had to be exterminated in the asari sewers. Such post-war realities had occupied much of the Citadel Council when Shepherd and T'Soni served together.

But for people born after the Reaper Wars, the old threat was second-hand. There were other things in the galaxy that still lived and stalked and terrorized.

Things like the Ardat-Yakshi.

Escapees from an Ardat Yakshi monastery had quietly terrorized the galaxy in the decades following the Reaper War, and even if Samara's daughter had not been part of that group, she was still a blood-chilling hunter, a monster-in-waiting, a creature which traveled with its equally brutal mother like a new Grendel.

Rance took Liara's leash from the Yahg and reeled her in close. "I'm not afraid of Samara or her mutant daughter," he said, loudly enough for the Wyvern crew to hear. "And neither am I afraid of you. At this point you are alive only by my discretion. You may sit with us on the bridge."

"A dubious honor."

"Or perhaps you'd prefer Commander Grell to resume exploratory surgery on you?"

"No," she said quietly. "I would not prefer that."

Rance wondered what had happened in the medical bay. It might be true that he wasn't afraid of Samara or the Ardat Yakshi or of Liara. But he realized he was afraid of Grell's unknown capacities. How does a Yahg know what a quantum entanglement communicator looks like?

"Dr. T'Soni," Rance said, "I will leave you free of shackles during your time on this ship. If you promise to obey my orders, I in turn will guarantee that no harm will befall you." He paused. "Do you promise?"

It was Grell who spoke. "Her promise is irrelevant. In removing her tracking device, I implanted a proximity mine in its place."

Rance jerked an irritated look at the Yahg. "Excuse me?"

The difficult thing about dealing with other species was reading their expressions. The Yahg's crustacean-like countenance was an inscrutable riddle.

"Forgive me captain," Grell gave one of his obscenely humble bows. "I was only trying insure you against our prisoner escaping. She is notoriously resourceful. Even having her on the bridge could be construed as a major security risk."

With difficulty, Rance suppressed his anger at this sly insubordination. "You surgically implanted a mine inside our prisoner?"

"It is slotted to the Wyvern with a range of one hundred meters beyond it."

"If she wanders more than a hundred meters?"

"She explodes."

Rance was looking at Liara when Grell pronounced this grisly fate. "Seems vindictive, Commander Grell."

"I was thinking it was prudent," came the monster's retort.

"Then consider it prudent to consult with me first before you take such an action again."

"Yes, sir."

"Run the Ploba data through the ship decoders. I want a full report as soon as the decryption cracks it."

The Yahg moved off, passing Traj and the rest of the Wyvern crew. She shot an unsettled look at Rance when the first officer was gone.

Rance took a moment to compose himself. "Any idea why Grell hates you?"

Liara folded her hands in her lap. "Perhaps. There are more pressing questions, however."

"Such as?"

"Such as what Samara and her daughter will do to your entire crew when they find you. And they will, Captain Rance Hoyt." A steel-like edge came into Liara's voice, and her eyes were hard and merciless.

O

O

O

O

O

Aboard Captain Samara's ship the Fury, Falere felt the thrill of the chase subside as her inhibitors kicked a tranquilizing agent into her bloodstream. It felt hot at first, almost painful in a delicious way, and then it cooled quickly like menthol. She wiped the sweat from her brow and, reluctantly, let the smile melt from her face.

Her mother, Samara, didn't sit in a captain's chair. The ancient woman sat in meditative posture, as beautiful and voluptuous as ever, watching the viewscreen.

"Target vessel destination unknown," said the voice of the pilot.

"There are a finite number of locations," observed Samara. "Let us consider where they may have gone. Daughter?"

Falere swayed gently to the calming tranquilizers. During the chase her bloodlust had coursed through her like an electric current, a terrible monstrous thing crawling through her body, and all she could obsess about was watching the enemy target be vaporized by a well-placed particle beam. Of course, she knew that her mother had not wanted to destroy the vessel. Liara T'Soni was aboard. She wanted to run them into the ground.

"Mother," Falere replied, wondering how her voice would sound to her mother. When she became excited – and nothing excited her like a hunt – it was evident in the throaty huskiness of her voice. An urgency in her breathing. A way of pronouncing words that was sensual. Falere hoped the tranquilizers would suppress this, and quickly. "Perhaps we could dispatch probes into the relay, each bound for a different destination."

Her mother was silent for a moment. Falere her head, asking the Goddess for strength.

I am a monster, she best I can hope is to convince others that I am not.

Samara spoke at last. "In any other case that would be a wise tactic. Our quarry has stealth capabilities which can elude a probe. And now Liara's transmitter has stopped functioning."

"Her abductors discovered it. They must have surgically removed it."

"That is the most likely scenario."

"So they… cut… her open?" Falere heard the huskiness in her own voice. The thought of flesh being carved open, of blood flowing freely, of the heat escaping, of the pain endured, paraded through her thoughts. Falere shivered in a mixture of shame and lust.

Samara turned. Falere dropped to one knee and bowed her head. Over the years, this was the ritual and communication. This was her way of openly admitted to the sadistic longings of the Ardat-Yakshi. It was her way of telling her mother, through body language alone, that she was feeling the effects of her genetic curse.

At least it was a species of honesty, Falere thought. My mother and I are breaking galactic law and the Justicar Code. None of that could sit well with her mother's fundamentalist code. Yet at least we have honesty between us.

Samara spoke slowly, "They must have removed the device. I don't know how they realized she was carrying it, or how they found it. For the moment, it doesn't matter. We must find the ship, and without accurate intel, we are reduced to making an educated guess."

"Yes, Mother."

"Before they removed the tracking device, Liara was able to contact me. The first time was when she was being dragged into the ship. She told me it's called the Wyvern."

"Is that a human word?"

"Yes. Among the many mythologies of the human race, it is a species of dragon."

Falere said, "And yet the ship had no Alliance markings."

"Correct. The Wyvern is likely a ship of the Terminus Empire."

Falere considered this. "But why would the Terminus Empire desire your friend? Does she have strategic value, now that Shepherd is retired from the Council? The old heroes are dead or disbanded."

Samara stood and rolled up her sleeve, showing the SR2 tattoo.

"Disbanded by distance, not lack of love or trust." Samara's eyes were bright coins.

"I believe you, mother. But why Liara? Why now?"

"I do not know."

Falere was the only surviving daughter of Samara. She once had two sisters who, like her, were cursed by the Ardat-Yakshi stain. Asari culture demanded all three girls be confined forever in a monastery, where special mentors strove to teach the girls to suppress their homicidal appetites. Falere and her sister Rila were happy to accept this fate, and their life in the monastery had been a secluded, pleasant dream… a world of scintillating ice and loneliness, where they could contemplate eternity and the simple joy of each other.

Their sister Morinth refused this life. The murderous serial killer had escaped off-world and embarked on a four hundred year hunting spree, seducing and killing across the galaxy.

Falere swallowed hard and felt like wilting under her mother's sapphire stare. Eighty years ago, Mother had tracked Morinth down to an apartment on Omega, and together with Commander Shepherd, had confronted and killed the girl.

Months later, Falere had even met Shepherd. That was the infamous day the Reapers came to the monastery and forcibly recruited the Ardat-Yakshi for their cause.

Rila died during that encounter. The girl had nobly sacrificed her own life to detonate a bomb that took out a Reaper recruitment squad.

Since then, Samara had illegally smuggled her last daughter offworld, to join her in the fight against the Reapers. When the Reaper War ended, Samara offered Falere a chance at freedom. With strict conditions attached.

The deal was brutally simple: Falere was to remain her mother's ward. She was never to be alone with anyone. She was to be honest about her urges. She was to have tranquilizers implanted in her body, to be replaced every couple months, and which a simple tap of her omnitool would activate to assuage her sadistic need to kill.

It was a good arrangement. Falere was thankful and appreciative of the risk her mother was taking.

"We must consider what we know of the Terminus vessel," said Samara. "They attacked the Ploba research station. Why?"

Falere pried her thoughts from the dark past. "I do not know."

"Ploba is not a high value military target. It has no military value whatsoever."

"They must have wanted Liara."

"Before they removed her transmitter, Liara was able to send me a partial message. She said that the people who attacked her were keen on downloading the Ploba research data. She felt they were surprised to find her there."

Falere searched her memory. "Ploba is the location of alien relics, is it not?"

"It is."

"What is the nature of these objects?"

"They were placed into the dense atmosphere by an unknown race millions of years ago."

"Protheans?"

"If so, they are unlike any Prothean artifact ever discovered."

"Then it must be from an earlier cycle... a race the Reapers murdered."

"Yes. If Ploba Station brought Liara on as a researcher, they must have believed her expertise would be useful in decoding the purpose of these relics."

Following her mother's line of reasoning, Falere said, "Perhaps the Terminus Empire has a special research group of their own, designed to accumulate knowledge on the extinct races. After all, the artifacts of the Protheans were instrumental in the development of the asari and the humans, in particular. Terminus must feel that great secrets can be unlocked through the study and acquisition of other forgotten artifacts."

"Very good, Falere."

Falere blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, mother."

"But I know all this. Liara had succeeded in decoding the Ploba artifacts. They were indeed created by a forgotten race, which Liara referred to as the Crafters. She did not know what they looked like, or where their world of origin was. But she believed that they had preceded the Protheans by several cycles. Perhaps they thrived during the cycle of 3.7 million years ago, a date to which numerous galactic calamities are ascribed."

Samara stood at last. "I believe our quarry has gone to another Crafter site."

"Could that not be anywhere?"

"Draw up a list of all archaeological mysteries not identified as either Prothean or rachni. Cross-reference with the 3.7 million year calamity."

Falere complied. In moments she had created a short list of planets, each of which was known to possess evidence of orbital bombardment and other forms of surface scarring. They were worlds which had suffered at the hands of the Reapers before the Protheans were a blip on the cosmic map.

Samara examined the list, studying its entries with cold, clinical industry. She eliminated the ones that were firmly in Citadel-controlled space. She deleted two more that were within the perimeters of well-defended colonies. In moments, she had culled the list down to four choices, and she considered them for long moments.

After a time, Falere chanced to say, "May I be excused, Mother?"

"Why?"

"I wish to use the lavatory."

"Are you feeling okay?" Samara asked neutrally.

"Yes, mother."

For a moment the ancient asari said nothing. Then she looked towards the intercom and snapped, "Take us through the relay. We have four systems to search." To Falere, she added, "You may proceed, Falere. Do not be away for long."

Falere bowed deeply and excused herself. She didn't go to the lavatory. Rather, she strode briskly to her own quarters, where she hooked herself up to the VR simulation node with trembling fingers. Knowing she had only minutes before her mother became suspicious, she called up one of its many, many programs. It was the program of a smoky, shadow-drenched nightclub. Music thumped in her ears. The tangy smell of spilled alcohol engulfed her.

In that virtual place, Falere mingled with a crowd of VI people. They laughed and drank and danced in carefree bliss.

Falere cooed happily, prowling the darkness between them.

And then, one by one, she murdered each and every one.


End file.
